Wood column: Nature is an inspiration for anyone who listens

As an author, I visit many schools and libraries and am asked many questions. One of the most common: “Where do you get your inspiration?” It is not a difficult question to answer. I often get my inspiration from nature, I say.

Recently we returned from a short visit to our family’s “special place” — a small island in Rainy Lake near the Canadian border. It is a place of retreat and repose ... and inspiration.

The island is not wilderness, but it is close enough to the wild that nature is always near at hand. Sun, star, moon, wind; the hum of dragonfly wing and the echo of loon call; the rustle of birch leaf, the fragrance of balsam fir, and the aspiring growth of countless green things ... all are as near as the cabin’s old screen door.

To step out that door and hear it slam behind you is to encounter nature — from the wind in the pines and the waves along the shore to the wintergreen, gold thread, bearberries and blueberries underfoot and along the trails. To lean against a boulder that has not budged in the 10,000 years since the last glacier dropped it, while watching a sunset and feeling the slow turning of the Earth, is to feel close to the wild and to all the embodied forces of nature. And sometimes in an unexpected moment, comes the sense that you, too, are — in some small but real sense — a part of it all and an embodied force of nature yourself.

That feeling of connection, of belonging, is where the inspiration comes in. For to feel that one is a part of the natural world, as much at home in the universe as any tree or flower or bird or star or island, is a powerful thing. An empowering thing. To realize that one is impelled and animated by the same forces that spin the planets and burn the stars and blow the winds and grow the pines is to feel some very real freedoms, possibilities and responsibilities.

Because forces of nature, from the starflower to the star, are indomitable. They never give up, they never quit. They don’t just try, they “do.” They don’t complain, and they don’t make excuses. And perhaps most important and most different from human beings, natural beings seem not to get in their own way.

Most humans, including this one, get in our own way constantly. Because of worry, or doubt, or loss of focus, or procrastination, or … something … we block ourselves, trip ourselves up, lose confidence and direction and purpose. And sometimes we need a reminder. Sometimes we need inspiration.

On Rainy Lake this year, as in much of Minnesota, it has been a difficult summer. Extreme weather events have led to widespread flooding and water levels not seen in more than six decades. During our visit, as we worked on repair and cleanup on the island, and saw others confronting much greater problems, there did not seem to be much time or opportunity for inspiration.

I should have known better.

One afternoon, a 60-mile-per-hour squall came down our channel and slammed into the island, bending and thrashing the pines. In 15 minutes it was past, and the trees straightened up, most of them. Within the wet branches white throats, song sparrows and veeries began to sing once more. A rainbow lit up the billowing backside of the storm. We got back to fixing the dock and the roof.

The next morning there was time for a short cruise around the island. This led to an encounter with a mama goldeneye and five tiny ducklings, cute beyond description, staying close to shore, close to their mom. Not many ducks had successful nests this summer, due to the high waters, and it was good to see these. Soon we spotted a mother merganser and her brood of a dozen, and again we felt joy in watching them.

But when “our” pair of loons began to wail from down the shoreline, their voices seemed more haunting than ever. Somehow there was an extra note of sadness in the echoing tones, in the knowledge that their nest had been flooded out, that the long journey back to Minnesota from Florida was a waste, with no young ones to come.

Then one of them surfaced nearby, sleek feathers sparkling, red eyes gleaming in the sun. It shook its head and spread its wings, before diving once more. The bird did not seem defeated. It did not seem thwarted or discouraged or anywhere near giving up. Why? Perhaps birds, and trees and plants and other wild things, are not “smart” enough to get discouraged. They don’t have our intellect, our imagination. They can’t see the big picture.

But maybe it’s something else. Maybe there is a wisdom that goes beyond our human definition of intelligence, a courage that goes on and finds a way. A force of nature that never gives up.

No, there will be no successful nest this year. But the loons will persevere. They will be there all summer, giving the big lake its soundtrack and a large part of its personality and magic. And, more importantly, they will be back again next summer, will build their nest once more with no guarantees, no certainty that some disaster won’t strike again.

When you are a force of nature, when you belong here and you are a part of it all, that is what you do. And maybe someone calls it inspirational. And maybe … yes definitely, next year there will be a floating platform on which to build a nest, so the island is never without loon music.

This is the opinion of Douglas Wood, a naturalist, musician, and author of 30 books for children and adults, who lives near Sartell.